


world class piece of art

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Kiss, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: “Stop being so smug,” said Mila. “That’s only because I didn’t know she liked girls until a few months ago.”“A few months,” Viktor echoed, “in which you have done nothing more than screenshot all of her snapchats and sigh wistfully whenever you watch her skate.”or,Mila has a crush, Sara has the best season of her career, and Viktor tries to play matchmaker.





	

**Author's Note:**

> By canon compliant I mean mostly canon compliant, as in, you can't prove that this didn't happen offscreen while we were focused on everything else going on during the finale.

“It’s not fair,” said Mila, glaring at Viktor and taking another sip of her drink for dramatic effect. “How are you engaged already? You barely even knew his name a year ago, and now you’re getting married. Meanwhile…”

“Meanwhile you have been pining after your friend for years and have yet to even tell her how you feel about her,” said Viktor.

“Stop being so smug,” said Mila. “That’s only because I didn’t know she liked girls until a few months ago.”

“A few months,” Viktor echoed, “in which you have done nothing more than screenshot all of her snapchats and sigh wistfully whenever you watch her skate.”

“We can’t all fall for people who have already basically professed their love for us,” Mila said. “We can’t all be you.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? They couldn’t all be Viktor Nikiforov, and probably they shouldn’t want to. Almost every top skater in the past however many years had somehow been broken by trying to live up to Viktor’s impossible standards, and it was Mila’s personal opinion that trying to maintain his own image had been slowly killing Viktor himself. He was happier now that he was coaching, lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and when he smiled now he looked like he meant it. Of course, she couldn’t be sure how much of that was retirement and how much was Yuuri. And with Yuri looking like he growing up to be the next Viktor, she couldn’t help but worry. Yuri was a brat, sure, but he was like her kid brother, and she had no desire to see him either break like so many did or survive, like Viktor did, by becoming the best, lonely and cold and bored. She shook her head and finished her drink. Now she was being needlessly morbid. Yuri was a tough kid, and Viktor had found his happiness eventually.

“Unfortunate,” said Viktor. “Think of how much simpler life would be.” Mila rolled her eyes at him and ordered another drink for each of them. “Hey,” Viktor said, “I have a competition tomorrow.”

Mila rolled her eyes again. “You are not skating. You are cheering on your fiancé. I have to be up at some ungodly hour of the morning to practice my free skate, and then I have to entertain my parents all day, and here I am, at least one drink ahead of you. You should be ashamed.”

“You don’t even get hangovers,” said Viktor, pouting. “Now look at what’s unfair.”

Mila smirked. “You won the Grand Prix Final five times, you hold multiple world records, and you are about to be married to the love of your life. I think hangovers are a small price to pay.”

“You wouldn’t say that,” Viktor said, “if you had ever had a hangover.”

\---

Mila did not have a hangover the next morning. What she did have was a headache from sleep deprivation, which was entirely different and didn’t count. Not that the distinction made much real difference by the end of the day, after skating practice before dawn and meeting her parents at the airport and showing them around the city all day—they swore it wasn’t to punish her for that time she missed her cousin’s wedding for Nationals but she wasn’t convinced—forcing her to miss watching Yuri and Yuuri skate. Forcing her to miss watching Yurio break Viktor’s world record.

She watched him skate on her phone, trying to hide the screen under the tablecloth at lunch so her parents wouldn’t lecture her about kids these days and their technology, feeling horribly guilty, and it wasn’t that he would never forgive her for missing it. He would forgive her, like he forgave his grandfather for missing the Roestlecom Cup, like he forgave Viktor for going to Japan. Yuri never really expected any of them to stick around for him, which is why Mila would never forgive herself for leaving.

By the time she reached the hotel, all she wanted to do was collapse into bed and wake up on a day that would be better, had to be better, because it was a competition day, with no space for anything but competition thoughts. Sara, sitting in the lobby looking incredibly bored with whatever JJ and his fiancee were saying to her, had other plans, jumping up and pulling her into a hug as if she had been waiting for her all along. “Thank God you’re here,” Sara said. “I thought I was never going to escape JJ’s wedding plans.”

“Sounds awful,” said Mila, frantically trying to smooth down her hair and hoping she looked vaguely presentable and not like she was running on four hours of sleep at the most.

“They wanted a destination wedding,” said Sara grimly, “but eventually decided to have it in Montreal so more of their fans could be there. Also, they may or may not be walking down the aisle to his short program theme song.”

“Oh, no,” Mila said. “Please tell me we’re not going to be invited.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “You think JJ will pass up the chance to have all of the top names in figure skating together and paying attention to him? I think we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t also invite every sports journalist he can find.”

Mila shuddered at the thought of the media circus that JJ’s wedding was sure to be, and thoughts of weddings led to thoughts of other, more eagerly anticipated, weddings. She wondered how Yuuri was doing, how he had handled his less-than-ideal performance today. From what she knew of him, and from what she knew of the fear that you were never going to be good enough, never as good as you should be, she didn’t think he took it well.

And then she brought herself back to the present, to the hotel lobby that was nothing but a blurred backdrop for Sara’s bright smile. “And I thought Viktor’s was going to be over-the-top.”

“I knew it!” said Sara triumphantly. “I thought so, when I saw the matching rings, but I didn’t get a chance to ask.” She grimaced. “Katsuki didn’t do well today, and it made everything kind of awkward. I didn’t want to be insensitive.”

“I’m surprised Viktor wasn’t talking about it nonstop,” Mila said. “It’s not like him to not show off at least a little bit.”

“Well,” Sara said, “he did kiss Katsuki’s ring before his skate- I’m not sure I’d call that subtle.”

“That sounds more like the Viktor I know and roll my eyes at,” said Mila. “Shall we get out of here before JJ tries to wrangle me into his plans as well?”

\---

Mila was in fourth after the short program, and Sara in second, meaning that Mila had been off the ice for long enough to have cooled down and coincidentally ended up at the side of the rink right before Sara was due to skate, now comfortably in first and guaranteed a spot on the podium. Sara leaned over the boards, close enough that Mila could see that her cheeks were flushed. “Here to wish me luck?”

“As if you need it,” Mila said.

Sara smiled, and Mila wanted to freeze that moment forever, Sara leaning toward her, balanced on the edge of a blade both literally and emotionally, her eyes wide, Mila’s heart beating faster than it did even in the moment before the music started. “Not with you watching me,” Sara said, still smiling widely, batting her eyelashes innocently. “I mean, I have to make sure you see me beating your score.”

“Is that so,” said Mila, and then, before the rational part of her mind could convince the rest of her that it was a bad idea, she leaned over the boards and kissed Sara on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said. “If you need it.”

And then she retreated back to the stands, her hands over her face so that Sara couldn’t see her blushing, wondering if she could pass it off as a cultural difference even though they would both know that was bullshit.

As she took her seat, Yuri took one look at her, at her burning cheeks, at the silly smile that she couldn’t quite contain, and he sighed loudly and dramatically. Mila wondered if Viktor had been that difficult as a teenager, since Yuri seemed to be taking after him in almost every other way, or if he had been born charming. She reached over to ruffle his hair—dodging out of the way of his retaliatory kick—and then turned her attention to the ice, where Sara Crispino had just landed a triple Lutz, the light glittering off the silver accents on her costume like stars on a cold night.

Mila remembered Sara choosing that costume, remembered when they had a layover together in Paris and spent most of it watching videos from previous Grand Prix Finals, and Mila had pointed at the short program outfit of the 2002 Olympic bronze medalist and said, “You should wear something like that.”

“You think I could pull that off?” Mila resisted the urge to tell Sara that she could make anything look good, and furthermore that she was welcome to pull off any of her clothes at any time.

Instead she looked thoughtfully between her phone screen and Sara’s distractingly bright eyes and said, “Of course. Maybe just a little bit darker, and take away the accents on the sides, but yes. You’d look amazing.”

She did, in fact, look amazing, in a way that took Mila’s breath away every time she saw her. Mila considered pointing out to everyone listening how amazing she looked, but decided against it. She loved her friends, but they wouldn’t properly appreciate what Mila was trying to tell them. Also Yuri would roll his eyes at her again, and then she’d have to ruffle his hair again, and then he’d try to play some shitty prank on her at practice and then either Yakov would yell at both of them or she’d have to retaliate by using Yuri as a bench press weight or replacing his shoes with Crocs while he was on the ice, and _then_ Yakov would yell at both of them. It would be worth it if she would have Viktor’s support, but he was too busy being in love to get involved in prank wars with teenagers, and thinking of how happy he was, and seeing how gorgeous Sara looked while she was skating a near-flawless program that would probably put her in first place, took the fun out of it and made Mila feel as lonely as ever.

Remembering the rest of that conversation didn’t help, because it was just another memory of trying to flirt and failing and getting caught in the loop of girls complementing other girls but in a friendly and feminist way rather than a gay way. The kind of moment that meant everything to her but probably nothing to anyone else.

Until the first time she’d seen Sara’s costume, she’d assumed Sara had forgotten all about it.

\---

Sara deserved her silver medal, and Mila was happy for her, and definitely not at all jealous. She was, actually, ecstatically happy for her, and proud of how much she’d improved, honored to have seen her transform from a good skater to a great one, to have been part of her discovery of self-confidence. But she also felt disappointed, because Sara was better than her which meant Sara was less likely to be impressed by Mila attempting to show off for her. And then Sara took her hand as she stepped onto the third place podium, helping her up in the way one would help a princess climb a fancy staircase at a ball, and Mila almost thought Sara would have kissed her hand if- If the world weren’t watching, if Mila had told her how she felt, if Sara felt the same. If.

If only she had just gone for it, any of the times she wanted to, instead of hesitating, like switching from a triple to a double at the last minute and only realizing later that you should have gone for the other jump after all.

That was the kind of mistake you could correct, by switching to a more difficult jump later in the program, and maybe this was different and she had missed her only opportunity but maybe not. Maybe there was still a chance.

She followed Sara off the ice, about to say something when Viktor pulled her into a hug. “How are things going with her?”

“I don’t know,” Mila said. “Fine, probably. We’ll see.”

“If you need any advice…”

“I don’t think that showing up naked in someone’s childhood home counts as good dating advice.”

“It wasn’t his home, it was the onsen. You’re supposed to be naked in the onsen.”

“Whatever,” she said, trying to slip past him and get back to Sara before she left to celebrate with her family.

“Now you sound like Yurio,” Viktor said.

“Don’t you have a fiancé to bother?” Mila said.

“I do not bother him,” said Viktor, one hand over his heart in mock offense. “If that’s how you think relationships work, no wonder you’re still single.” He glanced back toward the hallway where Sara had disappeared. “If things don’t work out with her I can always introduce you to Yuuri’s ballet friend.”

“She’s married,” Mila said, “and besides, since when are you such an expert on matchmaking?”

“Since I got engaged to the love of my life,” Viktor said, and Mila sighed.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I? But still. I’m starting to understand how Yurio feels.”

She was spared Viktor’s undoubtably melodramatic response by the appearance of Katsuki Yuuri, who took Viktor’s arm and said, “Let’s go. I’m sure Mila has someone else she’d rather talk to right now.” He nodded at her, and Mila nodded back, sidling away while Viktor turned his full and undivided attention to showering Yuuri with compliments and affection.

Sara was still there when she reached the locker room, skates off, hair down, and soon as they were alone, in a space that was too still and silent after the roar of the crowd, she said, “There’s something I wanted to tell you.” Sara stepped towards her, and she was staring very intently with a curious expression. “What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

Sara smiled softly, lifting her hand to brush against Mila’s cheek. “You have a flower petal in your hair." Mila cringed. She'd been hit in the head with a thrown boquet, not her most graceful moment, and she had hoped that Sara hadn't seen her nearly wipe out.

“Leave it,” she said, thrown off from her plan. “I just wanted to say— congratulations on your medal. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Sara said, turning away and looking, for some strange reason, disappointed. She shoved the rest of her warmup gear into her back and started to leave until Mila, having taken a few seconds to regather her courage, called her back.

“Wait,” she said. “That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“I didn’t think so,” Sara said, stepping back towards her, and Mila stepped forward, until they were close enough that Mila could have counted her perfectly curled eyelashes.

“You’re beautiful,” said Mila breathlessly, and then cursed herself for not thinking of something slightly more original. “You… the way you skate… and you’re one of my best friends but also I really like you a lot….”

She looked up to meet Sara’s eyes, and there was a moment when they hovered there, on the edge of what they were about to do, the kind of balance you couldn’t hold indefinitely. Sooner or later, you had to either jump or fall.

Mila wasn’t sure who moved first, or if they moved together, and then Sara’s lips were pressed against hers, unsure at first but soft and sweet and tender.

When they broke apart, Sara’s eyes were sparkling with laughter that lit up her whole face. “I wondered,” she said. “But I thought I was being obvious, and that you didn’t feel the same but didn’t wanted to embarrass both of us by rejecting me outright.”

“Oh,” Mila said, brushing her hand against Sara’s cheek. “I thought you were just being friendly.”

“Very friendly,” Sara agreed, pulling Mila closer by the collar of her jacket, their medals clinking together, and they fell apart again, laughing. Sara slid her hand between Mila’s medal and her skin, and Mila shivered. “This,” Sara said cheerfully, fingers splayed across Mila’s chest, “doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you next year.”

“Good,” Mila said, meeting Sara’s gaze, feeling heat radiating over her skin from Sara’s hand. “Next year you’ll be the one looking up at me.” Sara’s eyes widened, and Mila felt herself blushing. “From the podium. Because I’ll be winning gold. So I’ll be on top. In the rankings. Stop laughing at me,” she said, which might have been more effective if she was not also dissolving into giggles herself. “Please tell me we’re not going to be as sappy as Viktor and Katsuki.”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Sara said.

“Yeah, and you haven’t even seen the pair skate yet-” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “That’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“They’re skating together for the exhibition?” Sara said. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah,” Mila said fondly. “I think Yurio died of embarrassment the first time he saw them practicing the routine. But we don’t have to be like that. We can just be us. Best friends who are also rivals who also hopefully make out a lot.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sara, leaning in to kiss her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Pretty Girl by Hayley Kiyoko.
> 
> The costume that Sara and Mila talk about is Michelle Kwan's 2002 Olympic short program outfit.
> 
> I don't know That Much about skating so if there are factual mistakes I'm sorry.


End file.
